


Dog's Blood

by DilophoLehnsherr



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Caesar's Legion, Canon-Typical Violence, I'm terrible at tags I'm sorry, Im bad at summaries, Independent Vegas route, M/M, NCR, New California Republic, Plot Twists, Rating Might Change, so stop looking for sexual content in the tags ya nasties, this is 100 percent plot based
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DilophoLehnsherr/pseuds/DilophoLehnsherr
Summary: Klaus's hatred for the Legion ran deep from the moment he had to look at Vulpes's stupid face while what was left at Nipton burned around them, but despite his own detestment, he helped them, if only to nail that snake Benny onto a cross. But that chunk of lead in his skull planted there by that asshole came with repercussions. How the fuck did he end up in a Legion slave collar with no memory of his past, anyway?On the other side of the Mojave, a certain band of misfits led by a Follower of the Apocalypse doesn't take too kindly to their friend getting kidnapped.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> AYYY it's your boy, Damien, with a new Fallout fanfic because I am complete garbage for this series. I PROMISE I will actually update this one I'm so sorry I've been so inactive on this account I'm a terrible person and I don't deserve the mantle of fan writer.  
> Anyway, I love my pansexual desert boy Klaus and you know I can't love a character without making them suffer, so here's to long fics with a lot of blood. The title's an Alexisonfire song, by the way.  
> Enjoy the prologue which is just me setting shit up so I don't have to worry about most of it later.

If Klaus was asked to single out one superficial thing he loathed about being in shackles, he would say it was the collar. It was always cold, like the metal was designed to block heat rather than conduct it. It pinched at his throat whenever he swallowed or turned his head, that brief sting reminding him that his life belonged to someone else. It could blow his head clean off at the touch of a button if he dared to step foot outside the barriers set for him, guaranteeing his obedience and his isolation from the world outside. But one of the worst things about the collar permanently clamped around his neck was that it was just slightly too small; he couldn’t breathe properly if he wasn’t facing straight ahead, and the compression to his windpipe had caused a patch of bruising to peak out from under the metal. With no relief, coupled with the Legion’s mentality that medicine makes one weak, he’d probably have that splotch of dark purple and faded green until the day he died. 

There were other things Klaus hated, of course. It came with the territory. Once one got passed the notion that he was a living, breathing, thinking, sentient being who was viewed as property to be mistreated at the whim of the owner, there was still the malnourishment, the scraps tossed at him by Legionnaires indoctrinated into a totalitarian rule from the moment they were born. There were still the problems with his head: the chunks of static that clung to his subconscious as the shadows of memories not quite clear enough to decipher; the headaches that were getting steadily worse as his unknown condition went untreated, and that nasty, jagged scar that struck out from under his hairline as the last clue towards a major, life-changing injury that he couldn’t even remember. 

But the emotions were there, every time he caught his murky reflection in the river by the Fort, or felt that sudden aching jab when one of his headaches started. A vengeful anger that only a victim can feel, but not directed towards Caesar, or the Frumentarii, or Legate Lanius. It was misplaced, yet somehow felt accomplished, as though he had already settled the score. Whenever he tried to grasp at the memory, he could only hear random sentences from the same voice: “you’ve made your last delivery, kid.” in a smooth, business-like tone, and “you sick, vindictive fuck!” spat at him in a mixture of hopeless fear and rage barely held back. It was those fragmented audio clips that only reminded him that his past was gone, all the bullshit that the Legion had fed him about growing up here was false, and he’d probably never live to find out what was behind those locked doors covered in cobwebs and caked in dust. 

Sometimes he wanted to step a few feet too far, get his head blown up in a flurry of blood and chunks of skull, go out with a quite literal bang. But whether he liked it or not, this was his life, and he was too much of a coward to dare to end it prematurely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who seek, shall find. At least, they hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dudes it has been long and I am sorry so have this really long chapter for compensation.  
> I'm trying to juggle this along with work and uni research which is fine but I also had an unfortunate family incident that I had to wade through so this wasn't exactly on the forefront of my mind.   
> I'll try my best to update more often, but please understand that I do have to deal with other things that life decides to throw at me.   
> Thank you for reading this crapfest, everyone!

“Arcade, look!” Klaus’s excited voice sounded from up a hill, getting Arcade’s attention. He didn't know what he was expecting when he looked up, but a courier sitting in a pile of snow, some of the fluffy powder in his hair and a massive smile on his face, was not it.

Arcade let out a small chuckle at the sight, shaking his head in amusement. “You're gonna catch a cold!” He called back, but as was his attitude towards most dangerous situations, Klaus didn't seem to care. He just shrugged, shot Arcade his ’Whatcha-Gon-Do-About-It?’ look, and let himself fall backwards into the drift. Snow in the Mojave was almost as rare as non-irradiated sugar bombs, and Klaus wanted to enjoy this.

“C’mon, nerd. Have some fun fo-AUGH!” Klaus’s playful teasing was cut short when a 70-pound cybernetic dog decided to barrel right into him, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. Klaus got the wind knocked out of him, and he curled in on himself, coughing. When Rex decided to duck his head and give his owner a proper doggy kiss facial, Klaus started laughing, trying to push Rex aside and escape, but it was futile. “Arcade, help me!” he shouted through the barrage of dog slobber. 

“No, I think you can get away from this one.” Arcade deadpanned, crossing his arms as he approached the two. “Unless I get something in return for rescuing you from this ferocious beast?” 

“Okay, fine. I’ll-Rex!” Klaus laughed, trying in vain to shove his dog off of him.

“You're a dork.” Arcade shooed Rex away from the courier, helping him up onto his feet and brushing the snow off of his hair and clothes, and fixing his crooked glasses.

“Yeah, but I'm your dork.” Klaus shot him a lopsided smile as Arcade picked his hat off of the ground before Rex got to it, brushed his newly-mussed hair back and set it on his head, adjusting it to cover his scar. 

Arcade rolled his eyes. “So where's that reward? I did just save you from the Mojave’s most dangerous canine.”

“Ready to have your mind blown, doc?” Klaus asked, but didn't give the other time to answer before he leaned forward and kissed him, sweet and meaningful.

They had kissed a thousand times before, but damn, Klaus was a good kisser. When they pulled away again, Arcade acted the part of consideration, as if deciding whether or not that was worthy payment, but the brush of light red on his face gave him away. “Hmm… I suppose that suffices.”

“Well, good. Because we still gotta track down these runaway bighorners for Marcus an-” Klaus abruptly stopped speaking as a funny expression took hold of his face, followed by a hard sneeze that he just barely managed to cover with his arm. He sniffled, his nose having flushed to a light shade of scarlet along with his cheeks. “Aw, fuck,” he was starting to sound congested.

Arcade shook his head, sighing helplessly. “Told you so, but you never listen, do you? C’mon, let's go find these livestock, and then I'll talk to Marcus about letting us stay the night in one of the lodges.” He took Klaus’s hand in his own, and began to lead them on the trail of hoofprints they had found before. “We'll get you warmed up and I'll see what I can do about your symptoms, then you're going to bed early, doctor’s orders.”  
=============================================

When Arcade uneasily awoke from the holds of his vivid dream, he was met with the dark of the room. He sat up, the space around him feeling all too large now that he was the only one that occupied the bed. Even with Rex’s content snoring at the foot, it hardly felt the same. Klaus was usually here with him, sprawled out and, more often than not, babbling on incoherently as his dreams took him elsewhere. The bed felt too big without him. 

As his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, Arcade felt around for his glasses on the nightstand, the world swimming back into focus as he slipped them on. No point in trying to get back to sleep; he’d been restless ever since the courier that stumbled like a Freeside drunk into his life, adventure and excitement in tow, just as suddenly disappeared. It wasn’t unlike Klaus to go on random, spur of the moment adventures on his own, but he always told Arcade where he was going, when he’d be back. This time, he just up and vanished, and Arcade had stopped counting the days that he’d been gone.

The others had hypothesized that Klaus had met an untimely end, perhaps by running into one of those cazadors that he was deathly allergic to that he couldn’t shoot fast enough. He understood why they felt that way, but Arcade refused to believe it. Maybe it was the denial stage of grief, or his unwillingness to let go of the one man who saw him as a human being, who had seen their relationship as something more than a fling.

He sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the inertia and insomnia making for a bad combination when one’s mind is still muddled. A quiet, concerned beep alerted him to the doorframe, where ED-E was floating in his nightly round of laps when no one was awake to pay attention to him. Arcade narrowed his eyes at him in distrust, but the eyebot floated in anyway, getting uncomfortably close.

“Can you just leave me alone?” Arcade said, but ED-E persisted, and gently nudged his metallic body against Arcade’s shoulder, making him flinch. “What do you want? Is one of your circuit boards malfunctioning again?”

ED-E emitted a negative, shock noise, and shook in the air.

“Then go bother someone else,” Arcade growled. He really didn’t feel like talking, especially not to an Enclave eyebot that only brought back bad memories. With all his other repressed emotions right now, he really didn’t need the negative nostalgia to pile on top. But ED-E didn’t respond to his command. Instead, he opened the small storage compartment below his grill and tilted himself forward, dropping a small, metal key into Arcade’s lap.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up, turning it over in his hand. There was a small, ripped label on it that read Guns in Klaus’s nearly unreadable chicken scratch. “Okay, what?” Arcade looked back up to ED-E with a new willingness to cooperate. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the key, and he had half a mind to strip ED-E for scrap for bringing up Klaus, but he wanted to know where this was going.

ED-E whizzed over to the locked storage locker on the floor of the bedroom, beeping like mad in a tone of urgency. Arcade stood up, walked over to the locker, and kneeled in front of it. “This won’t exactly be new to me, considering that I know what all his guns are. Unless we find a conveniently-placed note detailing exactly where he is, I’m not sure what you’re hoping to find in here.” 

“BZZT!” ED-E replied in annoyance. Ugh, if only Klaus were here, he could understand what the bot was sayin-  
Stop it. He firmly berated himself, cutting off all wistful thinking of his missing partner that would only lead to depression. Reluctantly, he decided to listen, if only to satisfy whatever glitch-induced impulse that flying lightning ball was currently having. Arcade stuck the key in the padlock, pulled it off, and opened the trunk, greeted with the same unorganized mess he always saw while Klaus geared up.

There were three guns that Klaus regularly used: a .45 rifle, a 12.7 rifle, and a 10mm submachine gun. All were modified by him, crafted by an expert hand to deal death to any unlucky adversary who crossed his path. The .45 and 12.7s were secondary to the most versatile of the bunch, which Klaus took with him everywhere. Arcade brushed off the dust from the wood of the .45, exhaling hard when he saw that name carved into the slide, a mark of ownership. He set that to the side, and did the same to the 12.7. That should have be it. If Klaus was gone, he would have that 10mm.

Arcade shot a dirty look up at ED-E, who, despite lacking facial features, seemed to be giving him a cue to go on. “Look, I appreciate that you’ve got him on your mind too, but I really don’t need this right now.” 

“BZZT!!” ED-E repeated, with even more urgency than before. It seemed like he was gesturing to something, the way he was arching his body in a downward motion. Reluctantly, Arcade shifted his focus to the trunk again, which was full of boxes of spare bullets haphazardly tossed on top of each other. However, between two boxes of 12.7 rounds, a metallic glint caught the low light in the room. Arcade furrowed his brow, and pushed the ammo aside, reaching in and fishing out an eerily familiar firearm: a 10mm submachine gun with a near-illegible name carved into the slide. 

“What the f-?” Arcade’s words trailed off when a cold realization dawned on him, his blood running cold. He peered up at ED-E again, this time without his usual malice. “Klaus wouldn’t have left this behind, not if he left of his own volition. This…” He shook his head, trying to process what this clue was telling him. “This was foul play.”  
No sooner had the words left his mouth that Arcade’s mind reached a firm decision. He stood, pocketed the gun, whistled at Rex to wake up and follow him, and grabbed his Followers coat off of the desk on his way out.

======================================================

“Foul play? What, like a murder?” Veronica asked, her arms crossed and her hair mussed from the sleep she had just been shaken from.

“Please, don’t even consider that possibility,” Arcade shoved that thought away the second Veronica had brought it up. “Besides, it wouldn’t be wise to murder someone with so many connections. That leaves too many ways to tie it back to the perpetrator. No, I think this was a kidnapping.”

At his side, Rex growled, showing his distaste for anyone who would dare bring harm to his master.

Veronica sighed. “Arcade-”

“It’s not impossible. Klaus has political enemies on all sides. The NCR doesn’t like him because he advocates for Vegas’s independence, Mr. House supporters don’t like him because he cut off House’s resources, and the Legion loathes him because of all their invasion plans he’s foiled from right under their noses-”

“Arcade!” Veronica silenced him with a firm tone and a quick wave of her hand, a sympathetic look on her face that almost crossed the line into pity. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and took a deep breath, trying to decide how best to approach a man in denial. “The NCR doesn’t resort to kidnapping their minor political threats when they have the Legion breathing down their necks, Mr. House supporters are mostly limited to the Strip, where Klaus is very well-respected, and this is too far across the Colorado for Legion to be skulking about. I’m sorry, Arcade, but you’re going to have to accept the evidence that he’s not coming back.” Her own grief was starting to leak into her voice, making her sound more threatening, which was an odd match for her bubbly personality. “I know it’s hard to lose someone close to you, but that’s life. Klaus either abandoned us, which makes him a way bigger asshat than any of those thugs in Red Rock Canyon, or he’s dead in a ditch somewhere with nightstalkers ripping up his corpse. It’s how life works here.”

Rex whimpered, and lowered his head at those harsh words. Arcade locked his jaw before he retaliated out of defense and said something he would later come to regret. Instead of using words, he just reached into his coat pocket and pulled out that gun, showing it to Veronica, who seemed to take a new turn upon the sight of it. 

“Why would he…?” Veronica started as she looked over the name on the slide, the weathered metal that no longer shone as brightly as a new firearm.

“My thoughts exactly.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with the Legion isn't as glorious as their brainwashed sheep would have one believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I posted this one fast. I love how my motivation comes to me in bursts at 1 in the fucking morning.  
> Anyway, this is where things start to get dark, so if you're not cool with blood, it might be wise to turn back.  
> Klaus was such a pure, happy and innocent boy until my internalized fixation with pain and suffering got a hold of him.

It was odd, how blood tasted like metal. Such a smooth fluid, and yet, when it hits your tongue, it has that same sharp twang that you might expect from a blade. Even stranger yet was how it clung, its colour staining every unfortunate fabric it comes into contact with, leaving behind its remnants of the past that are not easily scrubbed away. At least, not from the cheap, frayed robes they were made to wear by those who saw them as lesser.

Klaus spat out a wad of saliva and blood, the thick mixture dripping down his mouth like a drooling dog as he stared at the rocky dirt beneath his hands, now dyed scarlet. He locked his jaw and shut his eyes, bracing himself before another blow hit him square in the face with enough force to knock him back. A thinly-disguised yelp of pain escaped against his will as the frames of his glasses dug hard into the bridge of his nose. 

“What do you say to me?” The sinister voice hissed from above, coupled with a hard kick to his side from a boot to push him onto his back. Klaus had learned to fear that voice, but he did not let it show. No, he would be damned if he gave them another reason to punish him. 

When Klaus didn’t answer, due to the wind getting knocked out of his lungs, he earned himself a stomp to his left hand, the pain of his bones being pushed to their limits making him wince, biting down on his own teeth as hard as he could just to keep from crying out. “Speak!” 

Even when angry, that voice sounded calm, collected, deep, and smooth as honey. It was easy to listen to, it rolled off its owners tongue easily, but that satisfying baritone held a sociopathic madness that edged into his every word. 

“Sorry,” Klaus coughed out as best as he could, but that wasn’t good enough for his superior. 

“I didn’t fucking hear you,” he snarled, emphasizing his distaste by digging his boot harder into Klaus’s hand.

“I’m sorry!” Klaus instinctively tried to yank his hand away, but that only made the agony grow in intensity. It kept getting worse, until he thought that his knuckles might break, but then that foot was lifted, taking with it the pain. Both of his hands had started trembling when he pulled his injured one towards him, still throbbing with a dull ache as he examined it. Nothing broken, but it would definitely bruise, and nastily. 

The quick self-assessment Klaus was performing was interrupted when the world blurred over, a cruel hand ripping the glasses off his face. He rapidly and clumsily sat up, knowing that he couldn’t protest if he wanted to stay out of the arena. He could only watch with squinted hazel eyes as his constant tormentor dropped them into the dirt in front of him, simply to step on one of the lenses with his full weight as he sauntered off, the canine’s head that he wore as a status symbol blurring over more as Vulpes headed towards the food tent.

Klaus scrambled over to his glasses, wiping the dust off of them with his dirty sleeve. The right lens was chipped and cracked to the point of almost shattering, but, astonishingly, it kept together. The frames were bent now, and sat crooked and awkward on his face when he slipped them on with hands still shaking from lingering adrenaline, but it was better than nothing. 

“Are you okay?” A hushed, but concerned voice jostled Klaus’s attention up, where another slave was looking over him with sympathy, and offering her hand for support. He gladly took it, and used the extra leverage to pull himself up. He recognized her as Silvia, one of the women who made and distributed the primitive stuff that the Legion passed as medicine. That powder stuff could heal minor injuries without a problem, but more intense physical abuse was out of its league. “I’ll see if I can fix your hand, or at least make it more bearable while it heals, but I can’t do anything about your glasses.” She gave him an apologetic look.

Klaus nodded, still a little shaken. “S’okay,” he mumbled in thanks. They were used to helping each other out by now, the slaves. When one of them fell, the others helped them back up. Less could be said about the Legion, who would sooner slaughter their weaker links than address their flaws and train them to be better. 

Silvia tried her best to lead Klaus to the medical tent without notice, sticking to the wall and avoiding the troops. If they could just get thee, she could sneak him some extra healing powder, wrap up his hand, maybe do something about that bruise that was starting to spill from the side of his nose and leak to the skin near his eye. They all had it bad when they screwed up, but Klaus seemed to get the worst of it, especially from Vulpes. That man beat the poor guy like they had a score to settle, with a vindictiveness in his flaming, borderline demonic eyes that’s usually reserved for old enemies. 

The shock seemed to be wearing off of Klaus as they neared the tent, and he lifted a hand to wipe the excess blood and saliva off of his face and push his unruly hair back and out of his eyes. He felt around in his mouth with his tongue, finding that one of his canines had been knocked out at some point, leaving a bleeding gap where it once rested. They were almost inside when an authoritative voice cut through the noise and got their attention.

“Hey, you!” A young scout with a scarf covering the lower half of his face approached them, gesturing at Klaus. “Blade, sharpen, now.” he demanded, dropping a broad machete in Klaus’s hands, seeing and taking notice of the slave’s injured hand, but clearly not caring about how this might affect his comfort. “I’ll be eating lunch with some other scouts. It better be finished before I am.” With that warning, the man took his leave.

Klaus looked down to the weapon in his hands, and let out a long, resigned sigh. “I guess I’ll catch you later,” he said to Silvia, who looked irritated with this wrench in her plans.

“You could ask one of the others to cover for you. I don’t think they care who does what as long as it gets done. Hell, I don’t think they even take the time to register our faces.” 

Klaus just shook his head. “It’s not a big deal, I can do it.”

“I will never understand your lack of self-preservation in this environment.” Silvia crossed her arms disapprovingly.

“Neither will I,” Klaus shot her a forced smile as he started to walk off, towards the nearest unoccupied sharpening stone.

“If your hand gets worse, don’t start crying when I patch you up this time, you idiot.” 

“I’ll try my best!” He called to Silvia in a chipper, teasing tone, but when Otho pushed past and shot him a threatening glare for making his voice heard without express permission, Klaus quickly, if reluctantly, shut his mouth.

====================================================

“I’m going with you.” A first recon sniper firmly stated, leaving no room for argument.

“Me too.” An NCR-trained sharpshooter expressed drowsily, perhaps a little chagrined at having been woken up so early.

“Ruff!” A cyberdog barked in excitement, his tail wagging hard enough to make his whole body wiggle.

Happy beeping could be heard from an eyebot.

“Lily?” Arcade asked the nightkin who had been quiet until now.

She looked to her friends, thought about going, but ultimately decided against it. “Someone has to keep Leo in his place, and it looks like you are more than capable of getting my favourite grandson back.” she said in her low, gravelly neutral tone.

Arcade didn’t blame her for staying; her mental issues often spelled danger for not only herself, but those around her if she experienced a break at the wrong time.

“Raul?” Veronica drew attention to the pre-war ghoul who was watching this all unfold with crossed arms.

“Hate to say it, but I’m gonna have to stay. M’not exactly as combat experienced as I used to be, and I think an arthritic old man would only slow the rest of you down. Plus, someone has to make sure that Lily doesn’t try to adopt any more grandchildren while you’re gone. I’d hate to come back to a pet nightstalker she took off the street because it followed her home.” Raul shrugged, always having been one to serve his honest opinion with a healthy dose of sarcasm. 

Arcade nodded in understanding, and addressed the group as a whole. “We’re all here because Klaus decided that we were worth more than we knew, so it’s time that we repaid that favour. Get your weapons, pack as many supplies and as much ammo as will fit in your bags, and then pack more, because this is going to be a long road ahead. Let’s head out while we still have a lead.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first step to any manhunt is to find a lead and follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYO WHAT IS UP IM BACK  
> I'm covered in the hair of 4 different dogs right now and this chapter took me way longer than it should have and for that I apologize. Writer's block is a bitch.

The group dispersed the weight of their equipment by individual strength, leaving Boone and Veronica glorified pack brahmin, but neither of them seemed to notice a difference as they trudged along with patched bags slung over their shoulders and strapped to their backs. They shoved as many boxes of bullets and energy weapon charges into ED-Es storage compartment as they could, Cass handled the rations, and Arcade, much to his own insecurity about his lack of strength, used Klaus’s old, tattered messenger bag to carry their non-essentials. Everyone kept track of their own weapons, as per the usual.

Besides the fleeting knowledge provided by those pre-war detective movies, Arcade didn’t know the first thing about tracking someone down. There was an entire desert out there, and who knew if Klaus was still in Nevada? Where does one even start?

The Tops? It was the only casino Klaus frequented, and Swank might know something… 

No. Location alone wouldn’t allow Swank or any of the chairmen to see any foul play from the Lucky 38, and besides, it would’ve happened outside, and casinos don’t have windows. 

That pretty much ruled out the rest of the Strip, so Freeside was the obvious option. Klaus had friends there, influence, a certain amount of social power due to the things he’d done for the people there. Plus, there was someone there who owed their missing mailman a favour.  
=======================================

“This place gives me the creeps,” Cass grumbled as they made their way into the run-down, dust covered building that served as the home and place of worship for the Kings.

“Doesn’t look any different than the other buildings,” Boone said in his usual, flatlined tone.

“It’s not the building, it’s the people in it. I wouldn’t trust someone who wears a fake smirk and talks like some kind of pre-war douchebag as far as I could throw them.”

Arcade tuned out the complaining behind him, hoping that Cass wouldn’t end up offending anyone before they got what they were here for. He turned his attention to the man leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a perpetual frown on his face, and approached him. 

A spark of recognition lit up in Pacer’s eye as the group followed in tow, and that guarded, tough-guy expression fell in favour of a smile. “Heyo, it’s you fellas! Don’t reckon we’ve ever really talked. Almost didn’ recognize ya without your friend. What was his name? Started with a C or somethin’.”

“Starts with a K actually,” Veronica corrected, and pushed her way to the front before Arcade could react. “It’s Klaus. Doesn’t know his last name, bullet scar on his noggin and really hyperactive, no filter, and fun when he’s drunk?” 

Arcade was about to interject. First of all, what did this Veronica Tangent have to do with anything; second, Klaus was not fun when he was drunk, because it was often him who had to chase after him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. But she seemed to be playing to Pacer’s good side quite well, judging by the way his performative smirk morphed into a genuine smile.

“Yeah, yeah, that guy! Good friend to us, so you fellas can’t be that bad if he’s buddy-buddy with you, and Rexy there seems to like you.” Pacer gestured to the dog, who seemed overjoyed to be in his old home, tail wagging and tongue lolling. “Whadya need?” 

“We need to see the King.” Arcade stepped back to centre. 

“I need a good reason for that, doc. Your friend has approval to come and go, but I don’t know about you.”

“He owes us a favour, and we wanna cash in.” 

“He owes you a favour?”

“Well, he owes Klaus a favour, and he can’t exactly be here to ask for it right now, so consider me his personal courier.” Arcade tapped on the ratty messenger bag around his shoulder, his finger touching a worn patch that read ‘I’m famous in Arroyo’ in faded lettering.

Pacer looked over the lot of them, obviously pondering what to do: honour their wishes or send them on way empty-handed. They could be lying, but on the one hand, the boss would show the rare fury of his wrath if he turned them down for one of his friendly favours. “Alright, the doc and Rex can go. The rest of ya wait here, okay?” 

Arcade nodded his thanks, and whistled for Rex to accompany him. Rex barked in joy as he darted into the room, too excited to wait as his master looked back to his friends, who gestured for him to go.

Pacer closed the door behind him. Arcade always felt a little uneasy when he was alone for these things. Charisma wasn’t exactly his forte, and if he wasn’t falling back on his sarcasm, then his nerves made him talk shaky nonsense. He could really use a silver tongue right about now, but unfortunately, Klaus wasn’t here to either flirt or coerce their way into a guaranteed agreement.

Fortunately for him, though, the King seemed overjoyed to see Rex again, who was rolling around on the floor while his old owner baby-talked him and rubbed his belly. He hardly noticed Arcade’s presence at all, until he took a cautious seat across from him.

“Hey, aren’t you the doc who I see with that Klaus boy all the time?” He asked as Arcade came into his peripheral. “Don’t reckon I ever heard ya speak before.”

“I’m not one to talk if someone else can do the negotiating,” Arcade explained. Hopefully, he could skip the idle chit-chat and get straight to the point. Every second he wasted here was another that wasn’t spent looking for Klaus, and who knew what kind of situation that man had gotten himself into this time. “I’m here to ask a favour of you, actually.”

The King stopped petting Rex, who whimpered in disappointment as the hands on his stomach were pulled away. He turned to Arcade, a new seriousness in his eyes. “You want a favour from me? I don’t believe you’ve ever done much for me, so why should I help you? Don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for everything you Followers do for the locals, but I’m getting some vibes that this is more of a personal thing than one for Freeside.” The King crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, studying the man in front of him as if debating whether or not to throw him out.

Those annoying nerves of his were already starting to wear at his mind, constricting his throat as if attempting to bar himself from speaking. Don’t clam up. Fight through it. Arcade thought back to idle travels, when Klaus would question him about where he recognized certain things, what his personal connections were, and every single bloody time he would panic and reply with something like “S-stop thinking so much,” or “Heh, like… W-what even IS an Enclave?!” neither of which were very believable answers. But neither of those situations had another person on the line, so he simply couldn’t afford to let his anxiety win now. Arcade steeled himself, forced his hands to stop shaking by clenching them into fists in his lap, and responded in the most smooth, neutral tone he could produce under the circumstances. “It’s not for me. Our roles have been reversed this time, for I am now the messenger. I’d like to cash in on that favour you offered my partner after he, uh… what was it again?” Arcade balanced his chin between his thumb and forefinger, and looked up to mock the appearance of thinking. “Oh yeah, he drove the NCR out of Freeside for hoarding all the food and fresh water for themselves. Could’ve done the locals a lot of damage if they didn’t want to convert to NCR citizens, wouldn’t you say?” 

The King nodded in a rather satisfied matter. “Those soldier boys were a real annoyance, and I did promise him something that he never got to back to me on. But why are you here instead of him?”

“That’s what this is all about. He can`t exactly be here; I believe he`s been taken.“

“What, like… kidnapped?” That seemed to pique The King’s interest, his eyes widening in shock. “What makes you say that?”

Arcade thought back to the suite, to the days, weeks, months spent in the abysmal unknown. To the depressive episodes he frequently fell into, to the avoidance behaviour. To the way he botched his medical practices more often, to the point where Julie told him to take a break, get his head on straight, come back when he could hold a scalpel without hitting some poor drifter’s artery. To the surge of hope he felt when ED-E dropped that key in his hand and he found that gun. However, a 10mm isn’t solid enough evidence to someone who didn’t know Klaus past a business-type relationship. No, words. Arcade had to convince him with words alone. “I think someone’s partner oughta know when they’re in trouble. Imagine coming home and the person you love is just… gone. You think ‘oh, they’re an adventurous soul, he’ll be back by sundown.’ But he’s not back by sundown. You think ‘tomorrow, then.’ He’s not back the next day. Or the one after that, or the one after that. The cycle keeps turning, and you keep thinking ‘he’ll be back tomorrow, he has to be.’” Arcade started to make a spinning gesture with his hands to illustrate his point. “He doesn’t come back. He never does. Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and before you know it you don’t even know how long it’s been since you last saw h-”

Arcade’s voice cracked involuntarily, a surge of sudden emotion building up behind his eyes, but he forced it back down, shoved it to that dark corner of his mind, locked it up tight to deal with later. He took a breath to steady himself, and continued. “Your friends all tell you that he’s probably dead. Met an untimely demise to a Viper or a Fiend or a cazador that got too close and triggered his severe allergy to their venom. Your mind tells you that he might have abandoned you. When you reject both of these statements, your mentor tells you that you’re in denial and offers to transfer you to one of your psychiatrist coworkers. And you start to believe them after a while. ‘Maybe he is dead. Maybe he did abandon me. Maybe I am in denial.’

“And then you find something of his. Something prized to him, something that he would never leave without. If he left without this item, it would be like a caravan leaving without brahmin on their way from Novac to Shady Sands. It simply doesn’t happen.” Arcade shrugged, and blinked hard to get the growing sensation of moisture out of his eyes. When it wouldn’t let up, he slipped a hand under his glasses and quickly clawed them dry, not bothering to adjust his frames when he lowered his arm.

The King had listened intently to his words, watched his every reaction and gauged the guarded emotion in his voice. From what he overheard from Julie, Arcade had a tendency to bottle things up until his breaking point, but it seemed like this was edging towards that limit. If it was an act, it was a hell of a good one, and he would suggest starting an act at the Aces Theatre or the Atomic Wrangler. “Alright, I believe you, your boy was kidnapped by some flea-bitten lowlifes. What do you want from me?”

There, now he was getting somewhere. Arcade leaned closer towards him, resting his arms on the table. “I want information. They had to have come through Freeside, it’s the only way out of the Strip. If you guys really do your jobs, one of you had to have seen something.”

“Alright, I’ll have Pace find the guys who cover the graveyard shifts, but don’t be disappointed if they can’t remember anything from that long ago, okay?”

Arcade nodded. It was the best he could do in the face of impossible odds.

“Oh, and if I find out you’re lying to me for whatever reason, I’ll have you shot.” The King warned with a stern look.

“Brutum fulmen.” Arcade replied.

==============================================

The nights were cold on the Colorado. The warm air was supposed to blow in from the river, but the altitude of the Fort made for some chilly evenings. For the Legionaries, it meant lightly stirring in their sleep, protected by their tents. For the slaves, it meant shivering through possible hypothermia and huddling together. For Klaus, at least on this night, it meant sitting along the hill that overlooked the entrance where the boats came in from Cottonwood Cove. He hugged one of his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knee while his other leg dangled and idly kicked at the air over the ledge. The stench of rotting corpse and the dying moans of the freshly-crucified hung behind him, a poking nudge at reality through his daydreaming and pondering over his strange dreams. The night guards had left him alone, figuring no point in using the brainpower to give a waking slave work to do when they were barely keeping their eyes open themselves.

Klaus’s dreams were always odd, repetitive, fleeting, but this one was harshly vivid. Some place across the river with impossibly tall towers, flashing neon lights, patrons everywhere either drunk off their asses or complaining about their losses. People in uniforms adorned with a two-headed bear symbol, and robots that kept the streets clean. But that weird and wonderful city had always been there, in the back of his mind, like a lingering aftertaste. But he had an overactive imagination; it was probably just a fantasy his mind had cooked up as a coping mechanism.

“What are you doing up?” 

That smooth, emotionally-void voice made Klaus’s skin crawl, his blood running cold as he looked up to see his constant tormentor. 

“Speak.” Vulpes’s voice was harsh, commanding, and it enticed that fear response that made him cower at the very sound of it.

"Couldn't sleep." Klaus croaked.

He waited for the backlash, but that never came. He waited for Vulpes to get bored and leave, but that didn’t come either. Instead, his next move only piqued that fiery curiousity that Klaus had thought was stomped out of him by now: he got down and sat next to him.

“Interesting choice of a place to sit, wouldn’t you say?” Vulpes glanced back to bodies on the crosses, smirking like some kind of madman when he saw their suffering. “Wouldn’t mind it here myself, I might return to enjoy the pain of these profligates.”

Klaus only nodded, too afraid to say anything for fear of punishment, his hair standing on end and goosebumps forming on his skin.

Vulpes leaned closer to Klaus, getting a good look at him as though sizing him up. He reached a hand out and grabbed his chin, roughly turning his face towards him. The fear in the slave’s eyes was like a drug to that Frumentariius. He thrived off the terror of those below him. “Hmph. Your eye is healing fast, and that broken lens hasn’t seemed to bother you that much. But I suppose you don’t really have the right to complain, now do you?” 

Klaus’s fear response was making him freeze up, but through the stiffness of his whole body, he managed to shake his head as well as he could while his jaw was in Vulpes’s tight grip. 

“You know your place. Good. You’re stronger than you realize, you know. I knew a man like you once. A lot like you. He was a courier, but he lived up to that old saying: ‘you don’t fuck with the one who brings you your mail.’ Nothing could kill this man. He took a bullet to his brain and was buried in a shallow grave, but he dug his way out and rose from the dead. Kind of like that head injury of yours.” Vulpes used his free hand to brush Klaus’s hair back from his face and tap the thick scar tissue there, making him wince. “People who crossed paths with him used to call him the Human Atom Bomb. He would’ve made the perfect ally for the Legion, but… He chose a different path. Not with those cowardly NCR or that elitist dog in that sinful city of his, but one of his own. The arrogance of that man, thinking he could make his own nation, alone.” 

“What happened to him?” Klaus’s curiousity got the better of him, cancelling out his terror and screaming over it. But Vulpes didn’t react with aggression. He grinned at him. Klaus didn’t know which was worse.

“Making enemies with Caesar is a bad idea. You should know this as well as anyone.”

Klaus furrowed his brow in confusion. That didn’t make any sense, what did he ever do to them?

“He suffers now. We make him suffer. That is all you need to know. The point I wish to get at is that you are a lot like him. You’re strong, hardy, you can take a few punches. I know this.” Vulpes gestured to his black eye, which, thanks to Silvia’s healing powder, wasn’t swelling as much anymore. “I want to see how strong you are, so I’m putting you in the arena. Tomorrow you’ll face off against another disobedient slave; we’ll start there. Should be an easy win for you.”

What was he planning? Why the sudden friendly attitude and talk about his potential? Klaus’s gut instincts felt like a venom had seeped into the pit of his stomach. If they fed him enough, he might have thrown up. 

Vulpes didn’t wait for an answer before he let go of Klaus’s face and stood up again, his boots kicking up dirt. As he walked away, he spoke seemingly to himself, but loud enough for Klaus to hear it loud and clear. “That courier was never good with a machete or close-combat. Always hid in the bushes and picked off his enemies like a coward. More likely to cut his own hand off than do any real damage.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> I'm away for the summer and I've been looking for a new job and it's just FUCK  
> I'm sorry though life gets in the way.  
> This is a purely Legion chapter though, since there was a lot to write for this part of the story. Shortly from now there will be a smaller chapter about our gang who are currently back in Freeside!  
> Another one written at like 2am because I don't know what sleep is.

An hour. He had an hour until he was to be thrown into the arena, given nothing but a dull machete that he had no idea how to use, and forced to murder someone he would probably know for the entertainment of the people who could end his life at the touch of a button. Klaus didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, given that he was outnumbered two hundred to one by trained, brainwashed soldiers, and that collar around his neck was dangerously explosive. Blasted thing. Ha, that one was good.

Needless to say, he was cornered. Either kill someone, and have that blood on his hands for the rest of his life- or, at least until his unreliable memory scrubbed it away- or refuse to, and get the other slaves to pick chunks of his skull out of the ground. Neither option seemed all that appealing.

“You okay?” Silvia’s familiar voice jostled Klaus out of his own thoughts, lifting his gaze from the dirt at his feet and up to her with a blink. 

“Uh… yeah. Just a little anxious.” Klaus’s hands were already beginning to shake, and one his legs was bouncing in a fast, erratic pace. Nonetheless, he still put on a smile, albeit with a new, large gap in his teeth where his right canine used to be.

They were both in the medical tent that Silvia was charged with upholding. “Medical” was a bit of a stretch, given the Legion’s disbelief in modern medicine, and heavy reliance on things like bitter drink and healing powder. However, she had to make a lot of that stuff for banged up Legionnaires. When Klaus wasn’t being tossed around, his official post was with her here, helping her mix together the crude placebo effect that passed for medicine around here. She was technically his boss, since Vulpes figured that it would be the ultimate insult for a man to be ordered around by a woman, but they treated each other like equals. They were friends, after all.

With what happened the night prior weighing on his mind, Silvia told him to go sit down in the chair meant for a wounded Legionnaire and take a breather, saying she would take the flack if someone walked in and saw one of the slaves resting, of all things. Klaus almost wanted to work, if only to occupy his mind.

A snap of fingers in front of his eyes brought him back around again, back into this plane of reality. “Klaus, I’m losing you again. What’s that trick measurement you use for healing powder?” 

“Oh! Uh… Half a xander root with the leaves on, crush the broc flower before you mix the two.” Klaus answered. He was quite good with medicine, but he had a feeling that skill didn’t come from him. It was like someone else had taught it to him through association.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” Silvia turned to go, but hesitated for a moment, before she knelt down in front of Klaus, a look of worry on her face. “Can you look up for me?” 

Klaus slowly lifted his head up to meet her eyes, and she lifted one hand up to his eye level, a silent request for permission to touch. He nodded, but still instinctively flinched away when Silvia’s fingertips grazed his face while she slipped his cracked and crooked glasses off his face, the world turning fuzzy without them. “Your black eye’s getting better, at least. There’s no blood pooling in the white anymore, and the swellings gone down. Open your mouth?”

She spoke with the concerned, yet professional tone of a doctor who knew their patient personally. Klaus recognized that from somewhere, but he couldn’t place the events. The only thing he knew was that it made him feel nostalgic and grief-stricken. He turned his head to the side, opened his mouth and lifted his lip above his missing tooth. Klaus’s face tightened and his breath hitched when Silvia gently tilted his head to a more angled side by his chin.

“Doesn’t look like it’s infected, but you tore your gums something good. I’ll keep an eye on it, but I don’t think you need anything for it.”

“He’s gonna need a lot more later, so keep your supply stocked.” 

That voice made a sharp chill shoot through every one of Klaus’s nerve endings, and he seized up like a dead body in rigor mortis. He didn’t need to turn around to know that a certain sadistic bastard was crossing his arms disapprovingly and glaring daggers through those goggles of his. 

Silvia couldn’t speak without permission at the risk of being zapped, as the other slaves called it, so she nodded. She wasn’t about to let this inferiority complex with a dog on his head push her friend around, so she made sure to cross her arms as well, and narrowed her eyes right back. 

Vulpes ignored her blatant disregard for respect, and crossed the room, every footstep sounding like thunder in Klaus’s ears. It took everything he had not to jump when he put a hand to his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

=====================================================

“Hold out your hands,” Otho commanded harshly. Klaus obeyed immediately, and a heavy, slightly rusted metal blade was dropped into his hold. He winced when the sharp end nicked his palm, and suspected that was on purpose, just to spite him for speaking out of turn the other day. “And let me suggest something, since Vulpes seems to think you have battle prowess.”

Klaus looked up from the bead of blood that was starting to leak out of his new cut. Without warning, Otho grabbed one of his sleeves and tore a strip of fabric from the worn cuff, making Klaus yelp in surprise. “Tie your filthy hair up that’s probably infested with lice. You can’t kill anything if you can’t see it, goldylocks.” 

A part of Klaus wanted to object, say that it was brown not blonde, you pseudo-Roman quarterback! And his hair wasn’t dirty, it just had natural chestnut highlights, and he, in fact, took very good care of it. But that wouldn’t get him anything other than 50 odd lashes and another beating, so he kept his mouth shut, gathered up his hair, and used that strip to tie it back into a messy bun. 

Once Otho deemed him worthy, Klaus adjusted his glasses and headed into the arena, his heart pounding in his ears and his nerves creating a freezer burn sensation that made his hair stand up. On the other end stood Siri, the woman who used to handle the medicine before Silvia was captured. Of course they used someone he knew, why wouldn’t they?   
The two stared at each other from across the dirt, both waiting on the other to initiate combat. Vulpes stood off to the side, leaning against the wall with something in his hand, watching them both intently. Neither slaves wanted to fight the other, and they hesitated. It seemed as if they stalled too long, for a sudden jolt came upon Siri’s body, and she jumped and went stiff for a moment before returning to reality. Vulpes zapped her, activating that automated punishment system in her collar’s design. Not enough to do damage, but enough to give her a nudge. She gave Klaus this look that said “I’m sorry,” before she picked up her blade and ran at him.

Klaus dodged and blocked her swipes with a natural agility he didn’t before know he possessed, but he didn’t fight back. No stabs or swings. Instead, his mind was assessing his surroundings in the background, working through possible options that didn’t end in Siri’s death or his own. Unfortunately, he came up with nothing.

This battle was starting to drag, and Siri was catching on to his plan. Whenever her blade connected, it wasn’t deep, but there was enough behind it to make it look genuine.

“C’mon, Klaus! You’re not gonna let this woman defeat you, are you?!” Vulpes shouted at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed with how his pawn was acting. 

Klaus mouthed a “brace yourself,” at Siri , before throwing his arms behind him and landing a hard kick to her stomach. He didn’t mean to channel the strength behind it that he did, but he must have overshot it, for she stumbled back and fell backwards onto the ground, the wind being knocked out of her on contact. 

“Good! Now finish it!” Vulpes called before anyone could react.

Seeing Siri on the ground like that as a result of his actions made Klaus rush over and skid to a halt in front of her, staring in horror at what he’d done. She was on the ground, which qualified as a lose. The only thing left to do was to end her life. But he wasn’t a murderer, and he knew Siri, and now he had to kill her or be executed for disobeying a major order, and… 

“Fuck!” Klaus’s machete dropped with a muted clank to the ground as his hands shot up to grab his head, before the stabbing ache that suddenly assaulted him made him drop as well. Nothing on the pain scale quite measured up to his migraines, but he wasn’t complaining about the timing. Still, with every second, it just grew worse. His senses started to fade into each other, with his sight getting blurry despite having his glasses; he could hear footsteps as Vulpes approached, but he didn’t know where he was. Klaus’s legs started to feel less like flesh and more like fluid as the pain intensified with time, and soon the world was reduced to white noise and blended colours. 

Since when was his cheek on the ground?

Rapidly shaking hands worked their hardest to rub at his temples, desperately attempting to relieve the pain. Nothing worked. 

Through his own ragged breathing and the distortion of reality around him, only two sounds registered in his all but useless ears: the sound of a dying gasp as a blade cut across the soft flesh of a neck, and a sinister, calmly sadistic voice saying “time to put you to sleep, I see.” before pressing a button on that remote he was carrying. 

The last thing Klaus felt before losing consciousness was an electric shock to his neck, strong enough to top his migraine, but quick and precise enough to knock him out.


	6. Elvis Has Left the Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help can be found in the most unlikeliest of places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, you have full permission to kick my ass.
> 
> I'm sorry I took so long, my life has just been a series of panic attacks these last 6 months, and writing this was the least of my worries. It seems to have calmed down a bit though, so hopefully I can get back into the swing of this story, because I do have full intention to finish it and see it through to the end.
> 
> Once again, I apologize for the wait. You guys are incredible and I love you all <3

“These two are the ones you’ll wanna talk to. If anyone has the information we need on our lost pup, it’s them.” The King explained as he led his guests through the wide hallways of the large building his gang occupied. Eventually, after a few flights of stairs that left Cass panting and Boone stoically concerned for her physical health, they stopped at a door. The King knocked urgently, but no one from the other side responded. In fact, when Arcade listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of snoring. 

“HOOK! BUSTER!” The King ordered impatiently, and the sounds of slumber abruptly stopped, followed by a soft thud!, and a groggy “yeowch!” Arcade would have chuckled, if his mind wasn’t so preoccupied with the task at hand. 

The door swung open, revealing a young man on the taller side. He looked like your average Freeside king, except his dark hair was down and mussed, the usual leather jacket was replaced by an oversized, ratty sweater that read 'Nevada boys make do' across the chest in faded letters, and his face was devoid of stage makeup. 

So, in other words, nothing like a Freeside king. But his face and demeanor oddly fit the part he was playing. He blended in, despite standing out so much.

The King looked over the man in front of him, who looked about 19 when placed beside a mature adult. “Buster,” The King acknowledged, “where’s Hook?”

“Uh…” Buster rubbed at a forming bruise on the side of his head, which only served to make his hair even messier. “What time is it?” he drawled, voice distorted from an encroaching yawn.

“Time to get a watch,” Veronica quipped, visibly pleased with herself when Arcade turned towards her voice. Cass snickered at the offhand comment. 

“12:45, give or take,” Boone answered, emotionless as ever. Jokes just flew right over that guy’s head.

Buster’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look surprised at himself. This must have been a regular habit for him. Judging by The King’s exhausted sigh, it was. “Just… I’ll scold you later; where’s Hook?”

Buster rubbed the sleep out of his shadowed eyes, the speed of his movements reminding Arcade of ED-E when he was still booting up. “Off at the Wrangler, most likely. It’s Friday, right?” 

“Saturday.” Boone, once again, was the helpful timepiece.

“Off on patrol by the north gate, then.” Buster supplied, “could be anywhere in that area.”

“We don’t have the time to track a down a wandering Elvis, son.” The King frustratedly reacted. 

“Who?” 

Arcade decided to take this window to step in, moving forward and stopping at eye level to Buster. “What do you know about any recent disappearances?” 

The sudden outburst of a relevant question seemed to snap Buster’s shaky attention span back to reality. Hopefully, he could hold on to it before he fell asleep on his feet. “It’s Freeside. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people go missing all the time, so often that not even we can keep track of it. Seen it happen myself.” His eyes wandered to the floor as he spoke that last sentence. “Some thug gets themselves killed because they robbed the wrong person, some kid gets lured off by the promise of a better income for their family and never returns, happens on a nearly hourly basis. If you’re looking for someone specific, I’d tell you to take a number and wait.”

“You’re a hopeful one,” Cass commented, crossing her arms.

“The King said that you were on patrol at the time our friend went missing.” Boone joined in, stepping in beside Arcade. “If you saw something related to that within the last two or three weeks, I’d suggest coming forward.” His tone wasn’t quite threatening, but it was harsh. Like he wanted to put this kid in his place, let him know he was outmatched and they weren’t about to leave empty-handed. Unfortunately, the intimidating effect is lost on anyone who stands beside Arcade, as they seem to shrink by at least two feet. 

Still, it seemed to work. “I… I saw some poor bastard get taken by a group of people what looked like New Vegas gamblers a good while back,” Buster stammered. 

Arcade pounced as soon as the moment presented itself, speaking a little quickly, a little too invested. “Really? Do you remember what the man who was taken looked like? Did you see his face? Did he have a rather grotesque looking patch of scar tissue all around here?” He slipped off his glasses and gestured to the upper left side of his forehead, and just below his eye.

“Woah man, chill out. If I was that close, I could’a intervened in time. Nah, I tried to run over and stop them, but they were gone as quickly as they came, like they just up and vanished into thin air.” Buster made a poof gesture with his hands to emphasize his point. His long, thin, bony fingers making it look more ominous than innocent. “Most I got o’ him was how stocky the guy was. Looked like a real Yao Gui, if you catch my drift.”

Arcade’s hope had been rekindled. Maybe this kid really could help them find Klaus! “Was he wearing a hat?”

Buster furrowed his brow, and looked at Arcade with a newfound interest in his tired eyes. “He was, actually. Looked like a cowboy hat to me, but I don’t know anything ‘bout hat terminology. In fact,” Buster put up his index finger, gesturing for them to wait for a moment while he was gone. He returned a few seconds later, some shiny metal objects in his hand. “I was too late to catch them, but not too late to find some damning evidence.” 

He held up the object for everyone to see. The group all crowded in to get a good look at it. It appeared to be a gold pin, one you would find on a fancy Ultra-Luxe type suit. Unnecessary accessories like that were only worn by rich Vegas types… or those who wanted to pass as one. The gold border ringed a ruby centre, that caught the glare of the light so well that Arcade almost didn’t notice the inscription behind the gem. Almost. 

“What’s that?” He pointed to the letter he couldn’t quite make out through the distortion of the jewel. 

Buster looked at it again, but didn’t seem to notice. “It’s a ruby. You know, precious gem. Common pre-war marriage gift.”

“Those were diamond rings, Bust.” The King interjected, and it was the first time anyone had noticed that he had checked out of the conversation in favor of rubbing Rex’s tummy on the floor. 

“Whatever.”

“Can I see that?” Arcade requested, and when the pin was dropped in his hands, he pushed past Buster, who was caught off-guard and stumbled rather comically to the floor. At least he didn’t hit his head this time.

Arcade rummaged through every drawer in the room, digging up Buster’s jacket, a tub of hair gel with a note stuck to it warning Buster to keep his paws off, some pre-war sci-fi novel… Eureka! He fetched a baseball bat from under one of the beds, his companions watching curiously as he placed the pin very carefully on the floor (you know, because he wouldn’t want to break it) before swinging at it with the wooden bat. 

The ruby popped off as soon as Arcade’s adventure into melee combat made contact with it. He picked up what was left of it, and sure enough, a golden bull stood proudly against a red backdrop, the black letter F engraved in the animal’s ribs. 

Arcade closed his eyes and let out a long breath, his head falling forward a little as his shoulders suddenly felt heavy. The Legion had been on his suspect list. God knows Klaus had made enough enemies there to last a lifetime. But… to see it confirmed, with evidence? 

“Let me see!” Veronica ran up behind him, her voice nearly startling Arcade out of his skin. Cass was right behind her, even Boone strode up with a bit of a spring in his step, at least by Boone standards. ED-E excitedly beeped as he floated over Arcade’s shoulder, and Rex woofed and hopped up from his reunion with his last master, rushing over with his tail wagging.

The speed at which the collective lost their cheer could have broken the sound barrier. It seems that they were all hoping the same thing: that their culprit was anyone else but Legion. 

Veronica and Cass looked like someone kicked their puppy. ED-E made a sad little sputtering noise. Rex seemed to pick up on his friends’ mood and whimpered. Boone was white-knuckled, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses and looking like he was about to take on the entire Legion himself.

“Bastards take everything from me, and now they take one of my friends.” Boone snarled, “I’m gonna slaughter every last one of them.”

Arcade shook his head when he heard those words, so full of rage and hurt, vengeance and personal guilt. Oh, how he understood. His feelings wanted him to lash out, curl up in a ball and weep, slit every Roman reject’s throat with a rusty butter knife, but none of that would get Klaus back. They needed to think logically, plan out their next steps and strategize, then see it through. So what would be the next step now?

Arcade looked at Rex, the cyber-dog’s head bowed sadly as he sat with droopy ears. He whistled, and a long snout shot up, furry head tilted to one side as if asking what he wanted. 

Arcade showed the pin to Rex, who sniffed at it, gave it a little lick, and sniffed at it some more before seeming to have a revelation. With this look of recognition on his face, he turned away, sniffed at the air some more, and took off running. 

The group nearly trampled poor Buster on their pursuit.


End file.
